Red Right Blog |
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Rants, Rates, Slags, Slates. Manic-depressive posts from Red Wright-Hand. Because there are thousands of worthless blogs out there and who am I not to add to their number?
Total US troop deaths in Iraq to date (09/01/07) since 03/20/03: 3739
From 05/02/03 through 06/28/04: 718 Myeloma (etc.) Blogs
Adventures of Cancer Girl Browse
Arts & Letters Daily
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Saturday, December 24, 2005
MYELOMA E. COYOTE: Only a few things could have made me miss a Fall/Minutemen documentary double-feature, and a diagnosis of multiple myeloma (delivered unto me -- the diagnosis, that is--on Dec. 15) is one of them. You can read more about this wonderful ailment online, of course. I expect anyone who bothers to read this blog anymore already knows me so well as to have already received my more personal communications on the subject. So I don't expect to be posting updates here for general readers (assuming those exist in my case), and am planning instead to direct such writing energies as I currently have towards personal note-gathering, research, and lengthy-manuscript preparation. I always hoped to publish at least one book before I croaked, I just didn't intend for it to be a by-product of the croaking-process itself. Not that I'm counting myself out already, not by any means, or that I'm even close to imagining that any ms. I produce will be published or even publishable. It's just that I wanted to get a novel in print first, and not a memoir about my valiant struggle with illness or whatever the fuck I end up with. So, stay tuned or not. I'll try to post major updates if that seems required, as in: okay, I'm really dead now, blog oficially closed and so forth. Meanwhile, send donations to the good folks at The Fox Chase Cancer Center, my holiday daycare site for the next few weeks. Saturday, December 03, 2005
PAST THE PSYKICK DANCEHALL: I just spontaneously ejaculated in my pants. Two of my very favorite musical outfits, recognized cine-documentarily at long last. See you there. Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Of course, there's no shortage of gainful employment opportunities for those of you wondering how to pay off student loans and/or support your children. From an e-mail I received last week: The Library Co-op has openings for candidates who can catalog in any of the following languages: Indian(any dialect) Thai(any dialect), Arabic (any dialect), Bulgarian, Croation, Czech, or any of the Baltic Languages. Must be able to do full Marc records. You can work at home and will be supplied with OCLC password. The collection is mostly monographs with some scores and maps. If you or any of your friends are interested, attach an updated resume. Pay rate is 35 to 40 an hour depending on experience. Work is on an as needed basis. Reply by e-mail or call Gloria Dinerman or Doug Dinerman at 732-669-1776. AMERICA EATS ITS YOUNG: From CNN via the Associated Press... House Republicans voted to cut student loan subsidies, child support enforcement and aid to firms hurt by unfair trade practices as various committees scrambled to piece together $50 billion in budget cuts. More politically difficult votes -- to cut Medicaid, food stamps and farm subsidies -- were on tap Thursday as more panels weigh in on the bill. Thursday, October 13, 2005
BABY BOOM: A certain crooked branch of the family tree makes his mark with this rumination on recent events, non- and otherwise, involving the NYC subway system. Courtesy of Citoyen, an online experience-broadcasting thingy. Sunday, October 09, 2005
Sunday, September 11, 2005
LINKS TO: Vice President Dick Cheney being told on live TV to go fuck himself. First Lady Laura Bush referring to Hurricane "Corrina"...twice. Former First Lady Barbara Bush saying "And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them." YOU'RE EITHER WITH US, OR YOU'RE WITH THE HURRICANES: Yeah I'm sure I'm the first person to think of that line. Anyway, at a time of genuine crisis like this, I feel I should completely defer to practiced bloggers like Kos or the timely coverage provided by NPR, because...what can I add, what can I say? All I can think of is the obvious: genuine astonishment at the lack of preparedness for this disaster at all levels of government, but especially the Federal. You'd expect that after 9/11, there'd be a fat binder or file folder labelled WHAT TO DO WHEN THE NEXT BIG ONE HITS within arm's reach of the President at all times, and, well, there may've been such a binder but there was nothing in it. Not even a decent template for a Presidential speech to calm people down and give them at least hope that knowledgable people are in control of the situation. If there are any Bush supporters out there reading my totally obscure blog, I seriously hope to hear from you, because I really want to know how you can continue to admire his work record and/or think he's been doing anything other than bullshitting on national defense for the last four years. Myself, I've concluded once and for all that this Administration really has never taken the threat of terrorism, domestic or otherwise, with appropriate seriousness. The lines are open: redrightblog@hotmail.com. Meanwhile, a writer in today's Times considers the very topic: the absence of Stateside terrorism in the past four years....good defensive planning or just continuing happenstance? One of the professors at the public health school where I work returned last Thursday from triage work in Baton Rouge, but this is not the place for me to reprint her personal stories. Suffice to say that she was quite drained, to the point where she said she felt guilty feeding herself while in the process of dealing with traumatized evacuees. Saturday, September 03, 2005
WHERE'S MY COPY OF THE WILD PALMS? First, you're not allowed on here unless and until you've made some sort of contribution to Katrina relief. Charity Navigator is a good place to start. Having said that, I seriously doubt I have more to say. A random browse of the web's major news sites this morning will tell you more than I can about the situation in New Orleans and the other horribly affected areas of the Gulf, as well as convey a sense of the public outrage that continues to build over the shameful reaction to the crisis exhibited at all levels of government. Some have said (or were saying, a few days ago), that it's too early to indulge in blaming, but I disagree. The majority of us, no matter how caring or giving, are forced to watch this calamity from a remove, which gives us plenty of uneasy time to ask questions, which leads inevitably to blame (though let's struggle not to be self-righteous). There are no excuses for what we're seeing: the colossal incompetence, the spectacular disconnect in the Federal government from grounded reality, and the absolute class distinctions laid bare, to wit: if you're poor in this country, and especially if you're poor and black, then you're fucked. I am 44 years old, and I have never been so ashamed of my country's officials. Not to mention the obvious: nearly four years to the day after 9/11, and this is how government agencies react to a full-scale disaster that virtually announced itself days in advance?? These are the comments of our Chief Executive after flying over New Orleans in a helicopter? A wisecrack about how he used to party in the city? I'm going to heave. Tuesday, August 30, 2005
We watch morbidly as natural forces pummel our buildings and roads and take human lives, reminding us again that we are not the center nor the focus of the world, only another small and ephemeral part of it. Is this the proper time to plug Grizzly Man, the best movie I've seen released this year? Monday, August 29, 2005
ALL RIGHT, YOU PRIMITIVE SCREWHEADS, LISTEN UP! I finally got a DSL connection, otherwise known as high-speed-internet, and guess what? Sometimes it works real well, and other times it fucks up my 4 1/2 year old laptop something fierce. Or so at least has been the situation since late yesterday afternoon when I finally got the connection flowing through the adapter. Aren't you thrilled? I know I am. At the very least I'll be downloading that latex catsuit por...uh, those Scientific American multimedia surveys much more expeditiously now. Your primitive intellect wouldn't understand things with alloys and compositions and things with... molecular structures. Sunday, July 17, 2005
 Yes I am still alive. For the past several weeks I have been pursuing personal and/or writerly interests of far greater import than this impotent blog. This post is no indication that the hiatus is to be significantly broken. But it's fun to post pictures. Bye. Tuesday, May 10, 2005
BITING THE DUST DOWN UNDER: Australian blogger and Red Right Blog Hall of Famer Hot Buttered Death has packed it in. I extend my deepest, most heartfelt sympathies. It's not easy keeping one of these things up to date, all on your own, for no money. Congratulations Mr. Russell for having lasted so long! Meanwhile, yet another self-promotion for that other writing I do. Support AGNI! Saturday, April 30, 2005
US: The Viet Nam War THEM: The American War US: The Fall of Saigon THEM: The Reunification of Viet Nam US: 58,193 military personnel killed THEM: 1,320,000 military personnel killed (approx. combined NVA [North], ARVN [South] and NLF [Viet Cong] forces) US: 1,500 MIAs (approx.) THEM: 300,000 MIAs (approx total Vietnamese forces) THEM: 300,000 - 2,000,000 estimated Vietnamese civilian population deaths, 1960-1975 Tuesday, April 19, 2005
THE BIG ANNOUNCEMENT: Your humble correspondent has a story appearing in the new issue of AGNI. The story is called Revolver. AGNI is throwing a party this Thursday, like so: "Come celebrate the publication of AGNI 61. Readings by Lan Samantha Chang (chosen to become the next director of the Iowa Writers' Workshop), essayist Ben Miller (Best American Essays 2004), poet Gail Mazur (a finalist for the National Book Award), and novelist Suzanne Berne (winner of Great Britain’s Orange Prize). Plus wine, beer, food, and an exciting spring issue. Don't miss this crimson opportunity to discover my real name. Advance orders for Issue #61 may be placed now. Friday, April 15, 2005
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
THE ADVENTURES OF BLOGGY MARCH: [Ian McEwan]’s 1,200-word eulogy [of Saul Bellow] was graceful, cogent and astonishingly fully formed, bearing no whiff of the lamp, no sign of haste or clotted emotion: It read, if the unforgivable may be suggested, as though (like major New York Times obituaries) it had been written months or years in advance, and carefully whittled and polished till not a trace of the sweat of composition remained. James Kaplan excerpted from The New York Observer. So, I wasn't the only one who noticed. Friday, April 08, 2005
THE BELLOW FROM THE BELLY BELOW: Canadian-born American author Saul Bellow died this past Tuesday, three days after Pope John Paul II, in a display of ill-timing not seen since Groucho Marx packed it in three days after Elvis Presley in the summer of 1977. But Bellow's passing does not seem to have been entirely overshadowed by the pontiff's, although, exactly as with the 84-year-old Pope, one has to consider just how spontaneous are all the eulogies for an 89-year-old Nobel Prize winner. Ian McEwan's, for The New York Times, is especially nice; he makes a point of noting how he chose a passage from Herzog for the epigraph of his most recent novel, and do you really think he dashed off his whole piece for the May 7 Times after Bellow's death was announced in the afternoon of May 5th? This is by no means an aspersion on McEwan (whose Atonement I found extraordinarily fine), nor on all those who compose obituaries in advance of a noted person's actual death. I just naturally find the process morbidly fascinating. Is there a name for the phenomenon (other than "journalism," I mean)? The Viet Nam/Cambodia tour description will resume. If you can'ts stands the wait, may I suggest you submit something of your own for RRB-publication? Saturday, March 12, 2005
CU CHI: It would be wrong to call it a pleasure, but there is a peculiar satisfaction in re-reading some of the Viet Nam journalism I had studied before my trip, and seeing street and place names now leaping recognizably off the page. An eyewitness account of the fall of Saigon in 1975, for example, is lots more immediate when the author (Keyes Beech) begins "...I had breakfast on the ninth floor of the Caravelle Hotel...and watched a column of ugly black smoke framed by the tall, twin spires of the Catholic cathedral...just up the street"and now I know precisely what he's talking about because I walked past that area every day I spent in Sai...I mean, Ho Chi Minh City. Likewise, this little passage from Dispatches: "We were walking out on a sweep north of Tay Ninh City, toward the Cambodian border, and a morter round came in about thirty yards away."Holy smoke, I was in Tay Ninh City. It is near the Cambodian border. Puts a chill down my spine, let me tell you. Which brings me to our guided tour of the Cu Chi tunnel complex. This is an extensive area northwest of HCMC, where the Viet Cong, living in elaborate tunnel systems first begun after WW2, managed to sustain themselves, seriously harassing first the French and then the Americans; in other words, a major operations base literally under the noses (and feet) of the enemy. If you wanted to fight the Cong there, you had to get down in the tunnels yourself, which a) was often a physical impossibility and b) not really something you wanted to do anyway. American forces came to know this area as The Iron Triangle; they bombed it, napalmed it, burned and defoliated and bulldozed it, and they still had...Cong around the collar. As you might expect, the Viets are rather proud of this history, and a portion of the tunnels (widened and cleaned up) are now available for tourist visits; in fact, it's got to be one of the most popular war-related sites in the country. After a brief lecture in the visitor's center about the place's history, we were shown a propaganda film lauding the Cong fighters and their heroic struggle, etc. The film was b&w and appeared to be of 1960s vintage...but was it filmed on the fly and then edited together after the War? Come on, don't tell me they had film studios in those tunnels too. Maybe the footage was smuggled up north to Hanoi and put together there...I just dunno. The movie had English-language narration (that didn't sound recently recorded) so I am at a loss as to the intended audience...pinko-lefty anti-war types in the States? Once that show was over, we got a look at some recreated booby traps. Here's a guide posing happily in front of a mural depicting the effect of those on GIs. A barrel of laughs! They let us crawl around in the tunnels too...five minutes of that and I was ready to surrender. More pics to come of the firing range on-site. Then it was on to Tay Ninh, center of the remarkable Cao Dai sect, headquartered there in a cathedral whose interior is really worth taking the trouble to see. We'd missed the noontime service but we got an eyeful of the place anyway. I'm at a loss to explain this religion; I refer you to Chapter 2 of The Quiet American, in which Greene (what, you think I'm going to try and compete with him?) or his narrator, if you prefer, has this to say of the cathedral: "A Pope and female cardinals. Prophecy by planchette. Saint Victor Hugo. Christ and Buddha looking down from the roof of the Cathedral on a Walt Disney fantasia of the East, dragons and snakes in technicolour." And what do you know, a few paragraphs later he writes: "It always seemed hotter in [Tay Ninh] than anywhere else in the Southern Delta...you couldn't believe it would ever be seven o'clock and cocktail-time on the roof of the Majestic, with a wind from the Saigon river." I had cocktails on the roof of the Majestic. It is right by the Saigon river. Puts a chill down my spine, let me tell you. Saturday, March 05, 2005
What's in a name? Or The Names, for that matter? A short time-out to note that I finally read Amazons, a work known to (some) contempo-US-lit fans as "the book Don DeLillo wrote pseudonymously for some reason." Money? Kicks? I actually got the great man to autograph my hardback copy (purchased ages ago at a used bookstore for, if memory serves, one laughable dollar) in 1997 after a reading at the 92nd Street Y, but he seemed to grimace as he signed. How frivolous is this fictional memoir about the first (and very horny) woman to play in the National Hockey League? Very, at times, yet at others, it is "funny" in the chillingly prophetic manner which has made me a lifelong fan of DeLillo's writing. To wit: this novel, published in 1980, ends up with a subplot about Saudi Arabian ownership of the New York Rangers that is astonishingly up-to-date, and about midway through (pg. 209, to be precise), there is a riff about Saudis, Afghans and Kurds that had me double-checking the copyright date at the front of the book. Ladies and gentlemen, DeLillo is our most prescient author of fiction, even when he is just doodling. Wednesday, March 02, 2005
BUU LONG: Woke the next morning feeling human at last. Dr. Sinister had a swell idea: a car ride out to Buu Long mountain, east of Ho Chi Minh City, in the vicinity of Bien Hoa. You can easily hire a driver (and possible guide) by checking with the tourist desk at any of Viet Nam's average-or-better hotels; apparently this is the best way to get to any place off of the main air and bus routes. One thing we quickly learn: traffic on the roads outside HCM City is just as nuts as within. You almost never see a helmet on anyone riding their cycles; a dust-blocking bandana tied around the face is about it. And I never did figure out if the fluttering motion drivers sometimes made with their hands meant "it's okay to pass me," or "back off, I'm coming through," cuz it scarcely seemed to make any difference I could see. In the end, paradoxically enough, I found it much less stressful to be a part of the traffic rather than watching it rumble by from an exterior coign of vantage. So we were out in the sticks at last, where few Westerners seem to go, which got us some nice stares, far preferable to people in the city trying to sell us tourist junk all the time. The mountain and (artificial) lake area turned out to be as scenic as advertised, and a good hike brought us to the pagoda at the peak. On the way back down, we passed two Vietnamese on their way up, one of whom began a friendly conversation with us (in English, of course); turned out this fellow was now a mechanic in California, returned for the New Year holiday, and very interested to see us two round-eyes in this area (which, I'll say it again, is off the beaten tourist track). His companion, who apparently spoke no English, watched us with a pleasant smile as we talked; when I tried uttering the phrase "viet kieu," this fellow laughed aloud, good-naturedly I like to think. Later: After the drive back to HCM City, and a revivifying pho lunch, the Doctor and I bought some reproductions of wartime Viet propaganda posters from a shop specializing in them; they're more tasteful than you'd imagine. Sorry, unable to reproduce them for you here. The doctor thought he'd do a little bargaining with the proprietress, and "playfully" made her an offer of one US dollar for the lot of four; the look she gave him had me close to sprinting out the door. Not to worry: a couple hours later I was getting a (legitimate) massage, complete with hot-stone rub-down, not far from my hotel, and all I could think was "Ah, this is Saigon now, not Ho Chi Minh City." Ten bucks for the one hour treatment. The relaxation came in handy, as a couple of Dr. Sinister's friends, fellow American-expat English teachers living in S. Korea, later entered the scene, and a spot of drinking commenced. May I recommend the rooftop bar of the Rex Hotel on the Saturday night before Tet? Tuesday, March 01, 2005
DONG KHOI: In case I'd neglected to notice I was now in a Communist-run country, the view out the hotel room window served to remind me. But who cares when your first Vietnamese meal is waiting downstairs? The local coffee and I begin a lifelong love affair, followed by ricemeal, croissants, and delectable alien fruits. Time for a little daytime trekking. The traffic is stupefying: the main mode of transportation is the motorbike/scooter and the streets are an endless stream of them. Here is what a local turn signal sounds like: HONK! HONK! HONK! To cross through this, just like the guidebooks say, I have to take a deep breath and just sort of steadily keep walking through the stream at a regular pace, trusting to the drivers to slow and swerve around me. I think I'm getting the hang of it but will suffer an existential crisis before the end of day. Dr. Sinister and I walk to the War Remnants Museum, an exhibition comprised mostly of photographs detailing, with suitable captions, the horrors of the American War. A diorama shows a crude GI in action, a scene found on the cover of David Lamb's Vietnam, Now. While there, a fellow with no forearms, a dead eye and a bad leg approached me with a rack of books (mostly war history) slung around his neck. He was rather deft at holding the books out to me with the remaining stumps of his arms, while recounting, in decent English, how a bit of leftover war ordinance had left him as I saw him that day. Yes I bought one of his books. Speaking of this, there is an extraordinary trade in bootlegged/pirated English-language books in Ho Chi Minh City and, I was to find, in the rest of Vietnam and into Cambodia. The usual merchandise includes such classics as The Quiet American, Dispatches, A Bright Shining Lie and, depending on where exactly you are, histories of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. Right out in broad daylight! No Tim O'Brien however, that I noticed. Anyway, more sightseeing until I began to get the jetlag wobbles again, precipitating probably the worst moment of my trip: it seemed impossible to deal with the traffic, impossible just to cross the street. Drinking didn't help, and dinner at the Hoi An restaurant, likely the very best restaurant I visited during my entire trip, was wasted on me. Dr. Sinister stayed out late and lived up to his name; I lamely crashed back in the room. IN-FLIGHT: So nearly four weeks after I first shoved off for Viet Nam, it looks like I'm ready to tell you a little bit about the trip. My flights out (all three of them) were fine, on time and in line, but I can tell you frankly that 24-hours-plus of sustained around-the-world travel, even factoring in some nap time over the Pacific, is not recommended for the less than serious. Arrived in Ho Chi Minh City about 10:30 PM local time, evening of February 3rd, at Tan Son Nhut airport, which was used by US forces during what the Viets know as the American War and which has changed somewhat over the years. Exiting the terminal I was confronted by an incredible mass of waiting Vietnamese: Tet was less than a week away and these folks were waiting to greet their overseas relatives (viet kieu) for the grand holiday. I got some memorable looks, I can tell you. A difficult scene to describe, and for the first of many times I wished for a movie camera. Fortunately, a guide of sorts was waiting for me, never you mind how, with my name on a sign, and helped my dazed ass into a legitimate taxi and into town. Got safely to the legendary Majestic Hotel, where I found my room waiting, along with my travel companion for this trip, who shall be referred to herein as Dr. Sinister. A beer on the rooftop bar before it closed, a short walk around the neighboring streets. Sure were a lot of local guys on motorbikes wanting to introduce me to local girls. Not tonight, fellas: I really began to collapse on my feet. Back to the hotel and bed, where a massive headache began just as I drifted off: caffeine withdrawal. My brain thought it was 11 AM that morning on the East Coast and was wondering where the coffee was. Saturday, February 26, 2005
WAITING FOR THE NAM: So there's jet lag, and an office job to return to and catch up on, and lots of other excuses for my not yet having posted anything substantial about my trip. Not to mention that the pics I took, and which I still intend to link to, are rather large, and the server to which I want to post them can't host them all as they are, and it takes me a while to shrink the photos down to manageable dimensions, and so forth and so on. But, dearly beloved, that is not what I wish to speak about this morning. No, this morning I wish to speak to you about Vietnamese coffee. It is the strongest and most delicious brew I can ever recall having sipped...and I've been off-shore of South America, I've been to Paris. Oh boy is that coffee effective. You order a ca phe den and they bring you a cup with a small brew-pot placed on top, a glass-and-steel contraption allowing you to watch the hot water slowly seep through the grounds, drip by exquisite drip (first thing you learn is that you always gotta wait), into the cup below. Then you drink the result, whereupon you are fully prepared to mount a singlehanded assault upon the nearest US embassy. I'm afraid I now know what Western heroin addicts have long experienced after travelling through the East, after sampling the uncut stuff right where it's grown on native soil. Jesus God, I'm hooked. I can't drink this watery, round-eye stuff you get in the States anymore! I need the pure C! I got the shakes! Help! Monday, February 21, 2005
FEAR, LOATHING: Hunter S. Thompson took his life yesterday, with one of the guns he was so fond of brandishing on the grounds of his Colorado compound. I had not paid much attention to his writing for many years, and yet his legend is such that I easily recall that period in my youth when I wanted nothing more than to live and write exactly as he did, much to the consternation of those high school teachers who had to read the term papers I handed in at the time. Rest in fucking peace, Duke. Saturday, February 19, 2005
THIS IS THE END: Arrived back home last night a little after 8 PM, EST, or 8 AM next Sunday morning Viet Nam time. We don't want to calculate the precise number of hours spent in and out of planes and airport lounges since waking very early in room 422 of the Chains First Hotel in Ho Chi Minh City, because this makes Da-dee cray-zee. But I seem to be fairly coherent at the moment (8:06 AM), with laundry tumbling in the basement, and a row of film cartridges on the kitchen table ready to be taken out for developing later today. I'll post the best shots later. What to say? First, apologies for not blogging from the Southeast Asian road. Internet cafes were easy to find, but connections were very slow, slower even than my home dial-up, and the last thing I wanted to do on this trip was spend lots of time hunched over a keyboard waiting for links to load. So what I'm planning to do is a sort of recreated diary...each post covering a day or so of travel in Viet Nam or Cambodia, with links to attendant photos. We'll see what the photo processor turns up later. For now, let me just say this: after witnessing children begging for empty cans and bottles, well after nightfall, on a Cambodian beach, either for the recycling fee or perhaps in hopes of using the material in some constructive way (strengthening the walls of their shacks, for instance), you have my permission to pound my face any time I complain about my life. I'll be happy to do the same for you. Saturday, February 05, 2005
Item: It is inadvisable to stare down upon Ho Chi Minh City traffic from an 8th-floor hotel bar balcony while in the worst throes of jet lag. Item: Five mg of Valium from the who-needs-a-prescription pharmacy around the corner from the same hotel works wonders with that jet lag. Tuesday, February 01, 2005
BON VOYAGE: I suppose it's not too inappropriate to use French to signify a departure for Viet Nam. Schedule has me airborne just about this time tomorrow, and please don't expect much of volume in the next two and a half weeks. About par for the course around here. Anyway, time for a look at the beautiful and stubborn land whose history is so bound up with ours ("ours" = USA). Photos and notes later, I hope. Will there be similar trips to Iraq in about three decades? Friday, January 28, 2005
Friday, January 21, 2005
Almost forgot in my blog-burst here to mention Moorish Girl's great good news: impending publication of her first novel, under her actual name of Laila Lalami. Keep an eye out: she's a sharp reader as well as an energetic blogger, unlike some we could name. In a month or so, I'll be telling you about another blogger getting his work published. Gee, can you guess who it is? AND SPEAKING OF SOUTHEAST ASIA: Guess who's heading there in less than two weeks? Yeah, me. A week in Vietnam and a week in Cambodia, a tour that's been in the planning since last fall. Well, earlier than that actually, but who's keeping track at this point? Long hours of online research and travel bookings are another reason for my absence from blogging of late. But there are of course Internet cafes in both countries, and if opportunity permits, I will drop a line...can't promise anything Graham Greene-ish, but I'll do my best. (And yes I have read The Quiet American, thanks for asking.) Plus, Blogger has apparently taken this hour to crash its server or something, making updates from even my present connection rather slow. Anyway... I couldn't think of anything to add to reports on the Indian Ocean tsunami. Moorish Girl has a rather well-considered article. Like millions of other people, I've had the experience of being knocked over and helplessly dragged in "rough" surf (six-foot waves, more or less, off the Eastern US coast), but my attempts to multiply the experience exponentially in imagination come up rather short, as do my attempts to conceive what life must be like for the survivors. Well, you know the drill by now: here's a link to just a few of the charities involved, and here's a link to what appears to be the major-related blog: The South-east Asia Earthquake and Tsunami Blog. LONGEST LACUNA EVER: That's right, a new personal record. More 'n a month. Not bad, eh? And seeing as how the gap came over the winter holidays, it's even more shameful. But, see, this is how it is, folks: I still have a dial-up connection at home, and I'm just too cheap and stubborn (and cheap) to go high-speed. Yet. So blogging from home can be a drag. And, see, when I'm at work, where I do have a fastiddy-fast connection, I'm usually feeling too responsible to do any major blogging. Yes, me, responsible. Except for like now. So here I am. But if you think I'm bad, get a load of the keepers of Susan Sontag's online legacy. As of this moment of writing (Jan. 21, 2005, 3:20 PM DST), Susan Sontag, according to her official website, "lives in New York City," and may be contacted care of the publicity department of publishers Farrar, Straus & Giroux, presumably with the intervention of a spiritualist. Susan Fucking Sontag's publicity department. Yeah, I'm really behind in my updates, I'm just so embarrassed... |
